Obscure
by StrawberriesAndCinnamonJAM
Summary: 'His hands were trembling. He hated it. He hated that he was afraid... she snaked her fingers over his. "Together." She whispered. "One… two… three." The shot rang off, and the man dropped. Dead.' AU. Ichiruki. Time/era is around the year 2100. Rewrite
1. Prologue

**A/N: As I said, I finally decided to start posting this rewrite. I can't tell you when chapter 1 will be out, but I can say I've written 1100 words out of approximately 4000.**

* * *

Risk. Unless reckless by nature, people don't usually take it. The safe path is the one they choose to follow; whichever one is lit with the most sunshine, the easy-going path.

'Cause, if it _can _happen, it _might _happen, and that possibility is scary enough to run away from.

However cowardly and naive, running was perhaps the best thing to do, in particular situations

If you didn't want to die, that is.

After all, there's the possibility that the _one _day you choose to turn around rather then continue forward, is the _one _day you could have messed up and gotten yourself killed. But, it could also be that the _one _day you keep on going, is the _one _day you did something right, and everything would get a chance to change for the better

You'll never know what's beyond that cautious wall until you cross it, but once over, there's no way back

So, the ones that have nothing lose, can easily take that extra step and know its worth. It's either success or failure, nothing in between. You could consider that bad statistics, but if you already represent the picture of failure, repetition of mistakes is hardly a pressing concern.

Whether such a thought is pessimistic, or optimistic, no one can say. But it wouldn't matter in the end, anyways

Once in, there's no way out.

Once in, its either walk path that moves forward, or don't walk at all

No backwards, no sideways, not even a diagonal.

It's not an easily avoided puddle; it's not wet cement you can dodge. It's a playing court covering the entire world, and maybe even past that. There's no over, no under, and no around.

So jump forward, get a hold of the opportunity, and take the risk running. Take it walking, take it crawling, and you get kicked to the curb.

Take it running, and if you get far enough, you'll be able to…

Fly.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize for any grammar/spelling errors. I was too lazy to do anything other then fix the squiggly green and red lines. If there's a ton of mistakes, let me know and I'll try to muster up enough effort to fix it.**

**Also, I'll probably fix the summary later. I'm too lazy (once again) to do it right now.**

**Hopefully you'll get chapter one soon!**

**-JAM**


	2. Chapter One

_**So... I took forever to update didn't I? I apologize. As much as I'd love to say that life got in the way, it really didn't. I blame it all on generally laziness. I could have finished this in a week or two if I wasn't such a sloth xD**  
_

**_Please don't murder me!_**

* * *

_What he recognizes most is the color red. _

_Not he r face, no, she's down on her stomach eating the dirt._

_Red, a capricious carpet rolling out from under her body, soaked into the knees of his jeans, drenching the golden span of her hair, rolling across his cheek as beaded petals of blood. _

_The handprint he left on the arm of her white blouse as he shook her, his own tremors fueling the desperate action with double the vigor. _

_He doesn't understand. Why doesn't she move? Why is it that as he grasps her hand, it feels so cold?_

"_Mom!?"_

_Whose voice is that? _

'_Your fault.' _

'Your_ fault.' _

_Clenched teeth, a sobbing grimace, the wetness on his cheeks unknowingly due to his own tears. _

'_Your fault, your fault, your FAULT!'_

Eyes snapped open.

It was quiet, only the rumble of far off cars resounding as a distant rolling wind in his ears. A rough, concrete texture scraped the palms of his hand as he pushed himself up. Throbbing drums in his temple struggled to escape his skull, drilling a persistent ache behind his eyes. Flakes of drying blood smudged onto his fingers; pressed down hard enough to bleach the skin white. The world spun around him, or perhaps, he spun around the world.

Street lamps mutilated and multiplied into fireflies of light in Ichigo's vision, dancing about in his blurred surroundings. Just when his feet ended up beneath him, he didn't know, but he allowed his hand to retract from the wall in order to take a hesitant and trembling step forward. The world lurched to a sideways angle, as a squelch sounded underneath his foot, the sole of his shoe grinding it into mush

He lunged forward; the sudden movement forced his erratic senses to shift into order. Vile smells attacked his nose; a sort of rotting road kill sending the salty fumes of its blood upwards. Dry retches hacked their way up his throat, the sound of greedy flies buzzing towards a meal worming its way into his already pounding head.

The blurred mash of colors in his sight settled down, the source of the smell becoming horrifying clear.

He fell to his knees, his palms smacking the ground. Bile burned its way up his throat, emptying his stomach.

A thick carpet of blood coated the space, pooling from a tangled mass of limbs. Gaping faces watched him, blood and saliva dripping down their chins and from their noses with skin marred by identical meaty caves in the forehead.

Three sets of bulging eyes gazed at him from the spot of their death, and Ichigo -frozen on his hands and knees- could not even tear his own eyes away. His fearful heart beat itself up into his throat, desperately thrashing against his chest as if to escape the constrictions of his own panic.

The urge to run overtook any other outstanding instincts. His feet slapped down on the concrete, muscles straining to get farther and farther, to get anywhere other then there, his heart still frantically pounding.

All he saw was red.

Red.

_Red. _

Just like his dream.

He stopped short just around the corner, sneakers screeching, hands flat against the brick wall, harsh panting forcing its way past his panicked heart.

Eyes shut tight, but the grisly image still taunted him, dancing frantically on the back of his eyelids.

Ichigo racked his brain for answers, for understanding, for the steadfast memory his confidence had always stemmed from. He came up short, the hammered pain circulating his head preventing him from making heads or tails of the scrambled images

The frenzied state of his mind combined with the pulsating headache prohibited any form of logic to pass his way, the undeniable fact that he _did not_ have gun never once occurring in his thoughts.

Rationalization was beyond him.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The short gasp rasped through his lungs, rattling his ribcage and irritating his parched mouth.

He shoved it down, all of it. The fear, the reluctance and confusion, crammed it all into a wound up knot at the base of his throat.

It was with hesitance that he stepped back around the corner. He hadn't noticed his own trembling until he put his full weight on his feet. His knees were practically knocking together, his teeth chattering, his hands clenching and unclenching.

And he looked. He shifted his eyes from the cigarette-coated street, and _looked._ To where he knew, he _knew_, those four, mutilated things lay.

Yet, there was nothing.

It was empty. A long, stretching emptiness, continuing until it vanished into the inky blackness of the opposite side of the street.

Was it, in the end, a hallucination?

Pure insanity rising to the forefront of his mind, perhaps brought on by the sluggishly bleeding incision at his temple?

He felt his breathing hitch, his eyes widen, darting frantically from side to side, as if baiting playful devils that had hidden the evidence from him, even as he knew there were none.

His sneakers itched forward again, subconsciously hoping that being a few inches closer would change anything. Even in his desperation, he failed to notice the rather prominent merger of four bloodstains inked across the pavement. He blinked rapidly. Could he have imagined it all? Could even the rancid smell that attacked his nose be an illusion of his fear? Even so, the rapid throbbing of his heart refused to settle.

He turned on his heel, rubber scratching off on the rough stone grains of the alley. He didn't want to look at the mockingly empty place, not only afraid of the possible reappearance of the gory mess but also the absence of it.

He ought to forget about it.

Thrust the memory so far back that he couldn't recall it anymore. Just as the vision had vanished into nothing, he should think of it as nothing.

It was only when the graffiti on the walls slipped past his sight that he realized he was walking. He hadn't noticed how far he'd edged down the alley until he was striving to escape from it. Senses and decisions fled him as he kept up the pace, anxious to exit the passage.

If only retracing his steps could delete the memory.

No. If only it'd never happened, if only he'd never set foot in the alley that day, then maybe the inside of his eyelids wouldn't be dripping with blood and garish faces wouldn't be screaming in the back of his head.

In all his panic, he stopped mid-step.

He didn't know why.

That is, until, he realized there was a slight pressure on his arm, and his eyes slid down to the sight of slim fingers covered in black buckled gloves up to the second knuckle gripping his arm.

A voice broke through his musings; soft, and undeniably female, despite the slightly deep undertone.

"Wait"

The command attracted his attention away from the slender fingers, his eyes tracing up the equally slender arm clothed in white leather, to the silken black hair splayed across the shoulders of a jacket. A face fell into his sight, pale to the point of near translucency, and framed in startling contrast with raven-colored tresses. A loosely falling lock that bridged her petite nose fractured the otherwise symmetrical shape.

His eyes met hers. A brief flash of familiarity tore through him, but -he thought- it wasn't because he had passed her in the street or even held a momentary conversation with her.

If her raven rocks and large amethyst eyes weren't so starkly opposite of his own features, he may have thought there was a mirror standing there instead. They had a very ethereal quality to them, those eyes, shimmering under glow of the street lamps.

She opened her mouth at the same time he opened his, but she beat him to it

"I thought you'd left. I moved… the bodies."

His mouth twisted into shape again, but words didn't rise to mind. He could only stare, quizzically.

"You should go." She nodded in the direction he'd originally been heading, as if the movement would spur him into obeying.

He heard his voice before he was aware that he'd spoken. "Who are you?" It came out blunt, with a slightly rude undercurrent. Then again, when was the tone of his voice ever any different?

She cocked her head to the right, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes, before shoving his question aside in favor of her own, repeated declaration. "You should _go._"

Her downward glance to her left hand, and the slight sound of metal upon metal drew him towards her left side, to the object held nimbly between her fingers. It took a moment before his eyes widened with shock as the reality of what he was looking at clicked inside his mind.

_A gun._

It was sleek, and pure white, slight black designs brushed across the handle. Engraved with a steady hand, the bold Roman numerals for thirteen sprawled down the barrel and two, delicately braided tassels hung from the end, numerous strings entwined through her fingers.

_She _was the killer.

As he stared, relief and revulsion battling for control in his mind, she slipped the offending object into the two buckled straps attached to her jeans. Curiosity won over thoughts of disgust and aversion at her murderous actions.

"It… was you." _Who killed them_, he added on silently.

A delicate eyebrow lifted up toward her hairline, momentary confusion flashing across her face before realization shoved it aside. "You don't remember." There was no questioning tone to the assertion.

Ichigo shifted his head in an almost imperceptible nod, confusion and curiosity circling in rings around his mind.

"Good. You should keep it that way. Those guys…" Here, she allowed a brief moment of hesitation, glancing back to the blotchy red stained cement. "They weren't exactly the epitome of good in humanity."

Without another word, she turned and sauntered away, leaving Ichigo to crease his brow in thought. He was capable of deriving a conclusion. Her statement, combined with the trickle of blood down his forehead, and the four dead strangers, spoke of only one thing.

The victim had been him_._ The four, formerly alive men had been the 'bad guys', and the mysterious gun wielding, violet-eyed woman was the _hero _of the moment.

The single word formed on his lips before it even came to mind to say it. "Wait"

She stopped short and he took a moment to marvel the swiftness with which she had traveled to the end of the street before her expectant expression spurred him into focus.

"Thanks" His voice sounded oddly nonchalant compared to the fretful knot of emotions tangled throughout his head.

A wry smile twisted her lips. "I was just passing by… I suppose it was an automatic reaction."

He took that as a crude form of the typical 'your welcome' response. Once again, she turned around, vanishing into the shadowy crevasses of the opposite alleyway. After a moment of contemplation, he too began the trek back home, albeit in a bewildered haze that had him stumbling over his own feet.

_Home. _Back to his family, back to the repetitive state of normality life remained in.

Always waiting for tainted red to crawl back over his sight.

* * *

The heel of a steel-toed boot crossed the threshold of the darkened room. Clusters of cobwebs stretched across the corners in an intricate maze of silken threads and a smattering of boxes carefully marked as 'fragile' in bold letters littered the checkered floor. The figure shifted smoothly across the ground, kneeling by three boxes tossed forlornly to the side. A lone, pale, finger swiped across the thick layer of dust coating the cardboard revealing a series of inconsistent numbers beneath a contrasting striped barcode.

Pink lips curved with a vague smile. She straightened up, extended a toe, and carelessly kicked the crate aside. Then, bending back down to run a fingertip along the extensive crack that followed the perimeter of squares in an oddly purposeful way, she pulled at the fracture until the piece of tile came free.

In just a moment, the final tile came free, revealing nothing but a gaping, empty, hole reaching deep into the shadows and crawling with dirt, grime and other assorted creatures that made scratching sounds in the night.

She dangled her legs into the crevasse and gathered the four removed tiles before dropping down, and landing with a soft thump on the grainy asphalt. Propped against the brick wall was tall, thick, iron bar, curved into a wicked hook at the end. Grasping it with one hand and standing on her toes, she hooked it into the crate and dragged it back over the hole, cutting off the lone shaft of dreary light. In a last effort to conceal the entrance, she eased the black and white tiles back into place and sauntered down the tunnel.

She emerged; surrounded by white in a windowless, empty room, identical from top to bottom. The door she'd entered through was a matching pair to the one she faced; steel and triple –maybe quadruple- locked. The only irregularity remained to be the metal contraption swiveling in the corner, blinking erratically in red.

"Urahara." She grimaced in irritation at the seemingly empty. "Don't make me wait."

After a series of clinking chains and clicking locks, the overly enforced door screeched open. Wheeling in on cushioned armchair, the previously dubbed 'Urahara' entered with sardonic grin plastered across his face. Scruffy blonde hair fell in a wild manner to nape of his neck, topped with a green and white striped hat tipped at a perfect angle to obscure his eyes from onlookers.

"Ru-chan" He tilted his hat even farther down his face. "You're later then expected."

There was a question tapped on to the end of that sentence despite its seemingly meaningless content. Her eyes narrowed. "I had to take a minor detour."

"Hmm." He tapped his chin.

"You know, it was odd." She hummed thoughtfully. "For Seats to wander into the alleyways. As officers of Aizen, they follow orders only.

"Yes, indeed. How odd."

"In _fact_ the only reason they would be down there harassing random civilians is if they were given a tip."

"Yes indeed. A tip."

"Awfully coincidental too, that the same day you give me the name and description of a possible recruit, is the same day a rather similar guy finds himself in dire straits just as I'm passing by on an errand for _you_." Her tone was that of pristine nonchalance, but her quirked eyebrow and accusatory stare spoke the opposite

"Yes indeed. So coincidental."

"Will you _stop_ that?" She hissed.

Urahara raised his hands in a placating manner. "Let's accept our blessings as they come, shall we? A man indebted is a man easily convinced, after all."

"You always did work in sly ways."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." He allowed a coy smile to quirk about his lips.

She didn't bother to honor his words with anything more then a snort.

"Speaking of our possible recruit, I'd like you to make the offer tomorrow. It's perfect timing, what with the coincidental saving of his life and all.

"Fine. Any other helpful information you want to give me, or shall I wing it?"

"Ah." With a rustle, he removed a stack of papers, vividly marked in bold lettering from the folds of his traditional clothing. "I have a particularly interesting bit of information here. There are no details, but the absence of such only screams _cover up_. I find unanswered questions serve well as enticement."

She barely gave the papers a glance before she folded them and tucked them away. "I'll do my best…this guy… he's only a potential, right?"

"Chances are high, but yes, he's only that and nothing more."

* * *

Sleep evaded Ichigo that night. The massive turmoil of thoughts wreaking havoc in his brain made it nearly impossible. Combined with his fear of the nightmarish horses that would be dancing merrily in his dreams, he never even closed his eyes.

He remained on his back, staring up at the roughly blotted ceiling as it darkened with shadows before they began to dilute with the light filtering through his curtains. He sighed, and raised a weary finger to trace the gauze on his forehead he'd bandaged up the night before. Living in a clinic guaranteed that one knew the basics of anything medical, even if he wasn't nearly as involved as his sisters; both voluntarily worked as nurses.

They lived in District 57 of the outwardly sprawling city, eloquently labeled as the 'Rukongai' that surrounded the citadel. The city was divided in sections, ranking for one to sixty-nine, going from better to worse as the number got higher.

They weren't enclosed in the worst place possible, but it was far from the best. Restrictions were so tightly in place that Aizen's enforcers, the Seated Officers acted immediately upon suspicious activity. Yet, somehow, this only served to make meetings between drug dealers, buyers and other illegal activities all the more secret.

He, of course, kept his sisters as far away from the dirty laundry of Rukongai life as he could. Walking them to and from school had become an easy habit over the years.

They were all he had, his siblings and his father. He didn't keep the later near as close as he did the former.

His mother…she wasn't there.

Dead or otherwise, he had no clue. His father would prance around the house, praising her in exuberant tones, and in contrast, wailing with absolute misery whenever his children rejected his affection actions.

Upon being question about her, or her whereabouts, he fell silent. His only response would be to fix them with a blankly cold stare before stepping outside for a smoke, a rarely participated in routine.

They all learned not to ask a long time ago.

Judging by the angle of the sun blasting through his window, he could guess that he would soon witness his fathers shoe smashing his door open, followed by jubilant exclamations.

Eyes would fly to his forehead the minute he entered the kitchen, although no one would say a thing about it.

They were used to bruises and bloody scraps from obvious fighting, although this time Ichigo couldn't rightly claim that he wasn't his fault, not with his distinct lack of memory.

He brushed his bandage temple one more time before letting out another hefty sigh.

Ignoring the brief flash of garish red that filtered through his vision as he blinked, he shifted out of his room and descended the stairs to his family.

Rukia sat atop the towering wooden telephone pole, legs dangling over the edge, palms flat against the rounded top and fingers curved around the edge. The wind teased her hair into delicate circles about her neck, one wisp subtly tracing her jaw line with every gust.

* * *

Amethyst eyes surveyed the surrounding areas. She scanned the rugged low-roofed buildings sprawling in organized disorder right to edge of the looming white wall that served as Area separation. Black smudges with only vague detail crawled every now and then across the streets, little ant-like people that had such a little impact on the world when looked down upon from high above.

A curved smile titled pink lips. _Oh, the insignificance of the people, _she mused.

Once upon a time, she could not have sat so high above the world in such an obvious place without notice, without shouted exclamations and pointed fingers.

However, attention to the worldly wonders faded with time.

Nobody looked at the sky anymore.

It was just as well.

Care for only the material things her made her job easier.

A job that was currently to keep a hawk-like eye out for the bobbing head of orange that would soon make its way to a street not yet cleaned from a grisly murder just hours before. A street she was presently looking down on.

Or she thought he would be here, if her assumption of human behavior was correct.

Succumbing to curiosity was one of humanities natural flaws. As it was, the things a person wasn't a part of were the most infinitely intriguing.

Rukia sighed, knocking her heal against the wood of the pole.

Nevertheless, curiosity aside, what wastaking him so _long?_

A slowly crawling thirty minutes had crept since she took up her post atop the city. She just wanted to get the meticulously chosen words and persuasively deceiving tone out of the way, regardless of Kurosaki Ichigo's reply.

She had mixed feelings about this idea of 'partnership' that Urahara Kisuke was so eager to put in place. She knew it would be interesting, a relaxing change to the normal pace of her abnormal life.

On the other hand though, the person chosen to take up the part was about as young as she appeared to be. The world of the 59th district was far from the life of a district one resident, but it just as far from her own world in terms of blood, dirt, and hate. She would rather not condone the loss of innocent in people that need not be involved.

But she had to. Compatibility was hard to find, and yet Urahara was one hundred percent convinced that Kurosaki Ichigo had what it took.

God's knows she had first hand experience with the effects on a human who didn't have what it took.

She closed her eyes, lashes brushing faintly against her skin and breathed in the crisp morning air.

Then, she lifted her cheeks to the brisk wind, and waited.

* * *

In the morning sun, the sanguine remnants of blood splattered across the cement seemed to be nothing more than a chalk drawing by exuberant children, despite the mirage of bloody holes in sallow flesh echoing over top.

Ichigo eyed it wearily as he stepped around it to face the brick wall he woken up against a millennia ago. He ran his fingers of the grainy texture of the wall, coming across a rusty colored that imagined must of come from his own head.

With the absence of the dim streetlight glow and nighttime shadows, the alleyway seemed almost familiar.

He frowned at the faint tickling of déjà vu.

_He heard them before he saw them, a faint rustling of clothing, and the crunch of tiny particles of rock under heavy shoes._

Amber eyes widened.

"_You think this is the guy?" One voice, gravelly and deep toned. _

"_I dunno, he doesn't look like much. Fits the description though." A second voice, softer and less official sounding. _

"_Well hell, crawling around here at this time. Makes him suspicious." The third one was feral and almost excited._

_Having long stopped walking, he turned around to take wary glance at the perpetrators. The first carried a relaxed stance, hands shoved unceremoniously into the pockets of his leather jacket, eyeing Ichigo with an indiscernible expression. The second had a bored expression, as if he wanted to get the inevitable over with so he could get back to the bars. The third looked ready for a fight, hands at the sides of his blue jeans. It wasn't a defensive stance, but one of man hoping to take the first swing. _

_Ichigo let a breath escaped past his lips. "What do you want?" He hissed._

_They eyed him, as if measuring just how much of a threat he was. The middle one stepped forward and flushed a shiny badge of platinum, marked with indistinguishable letters engraved in uniform lines. _

"_We received a tip about a man matching your description around this general area. Suspicious activity is not tolerated. Come with us." The man gestured towards himself. _

_Ichigo didn't obey. If anything, he did the opposite, taking a careful step backward. _

"_I wasn't doing anything." He muttered._

"_Awe, don't be like that." The man to the left smirked playfully. "Your hair isn't a very popular color and people typically don't mistake black for orange. Description says you're our guy. So fess up and come with us."_

_."Your tipper must be a moron. Or maybe color blind. Last I checked walking doesn't count as suspicious activity." Ichigo said with a snort. He took another step backward, hands unconsciously moving to his sides and clenching into fists._

"_Ah." The softer-spoken one tilted his head to the right. "I suppose it doesn't really matter when or where we take care of him, does it?"_

"_Definitely not."_

_Ichigo clenched his teeth. He was starting to get an idea of what was coming. It left him with only two obvious choices; flight or fight. But flight was hardly an option at all. The Seated Officers knew his face, it would hardly take much digging to discover his name, and then his family would be in danger._

_Whatever they thought he did, they never admitted to faulty accusation._

_Once accused, you were guilty. Mistakes were a sign of weakness according to their strict leader, Sousuke Aizen. _

_The three men chose that time to shuffle forward, grinning menacingly._

"_I guess were left with no choice but to take care of you right here and now. Don't take it personally you know, we're just doing our job to keep the streets clean."_

_One of them knelt to the side, stretched calloused fingers to grasp at a steel length of rod discarded carelessly to side, most likely after an attempted break in. _

_Ichigo hardly had time to react before the man was lunging forward with a vicious swing. Steel grey whipped into his vision in a blur. Instinct forced him to stumble backwards, but he didn't make it far enough to escape damage. _

_A stab of sharp pain jarred through his head, his vision warping to a hazy smudge. Against the throbbing pain, he hardly felt the rough brick under the palms of hands as he fell back against the wall. Head pressed against the side of the wall he sunk to the ground, grasping at his head as if he could grab the pain and rip it right out of his skull. He vaguely noticed the liquid on his hands, as he looked up to grimace at the three attackers, only to have an odd, cylindrical tunnel obstructing his view._

_No, not a tunnel._

_A gun. _

_The feral one grinned sadistically. "We gotta sweep the dirt of the streets. So say your prayers, bastard."_

_His finger bent down on the trigger. _

And Ichigo found himself staring at brick wall again. He swiveled around to scan the area with silly paranoia, only to relax as soon as he verified that there were no weapons or threatening men in sight.

He ran a weary hand through his hair. The sudden flashback was unexpected and surprising, but long overdue. The mysterious events of the night before had been a clamorous ruckus in the back of his mind from dusk until dawn.

Now it was clear as crystal, and yet somehow just as confusing.

Who in the hell had reported him as being 'suspicious'? A bored bystander willingly messing with him?

Whoever had done it had caused quite an unfortunate result that was a boon at the same time. It had opened a path to a completely new part of the world he'd never seen before.

It awakened a long burning curiosity in him, even though that world was just as closed to him as it was beforehand. He was just aware of it now.

He sighed. The memory had gained him nothing. Scratching the back of his neck, he turned to exit the alleyway and saunter his way back home. Or that had been his intended action, until a singular, very similar voice stopped him cold.

"Oi."

He pivoted on his heel, eyes laying incredulously on a figure he never expected to step foot in his vision again.

A women of short stature, clad in the same blue jeans tucked into black combat boots and the same white leather jacket.

Ichigo's eyebrows rose so high they must have vanished beneath his hair.

"You."

"Yes, me." She smiled that same odd little smile, sashaying towards him.

His eyes immediately fell upon the pristine gun buckled snugly to her thigh. With an effort, he dragged them away and onto her face instead.

"What are you here for?"

"To talk to you, what else?"

His mouth twitched. "About what?"

"Not what you'd expect." Pink lips parted, before closing again. She looked to right, as if debating her choice of words. "I am a high ranking member of a hidden organization. A resistance. And I am here to extend you an offer of membership." Evidently she chose to be blunt.

She was right, whatever he was expecting, this was not it. His jaw was practically scraping the ground. "What? There is no… no one is resisting Aizen!"

There was no way. It was impossible. He was the ultimate ruler. He kept those who had the strength and ability to oppose him fat and happy, and the rest of dirty, drowning people had no way of disobeying him.

The was no sign of disarray or chaos on the city. A resistance would've made some sort of noise, some sort of imprint on the surrounding area, right?

"Au contraire." She smirked. "We are very much alive. And very much active." She didn't pause to allow him denial. "Just because we don't blow stuff up doesn't mean were not doing anything. All those high-ranking officials that you never see on the screens or in public anymore? They're dead."

"Dead? You expect me to believe this?"

"What, do you want me to draw a picture for you?"

"That's… not necessary." He pretended not to see the disappointment in her eyes at this response.

"Well then… don't you want to believe me?

Ichigo grimaced. She was correct, a part of him hoped that somebody was fighting. So, he put aside the issue of existence, and focused on the other, earth-shattering revelation.

"You want me to… join? _Why?"_

"You have potential. You have a certain… attribute, that is absolutely necessary for the position we're offering you."

"And what's that?"

The tip of her tongue snake around her lips. "That's a secret I can't disclose with non-members."

"Are you telling me that you won't give me any information unless I join you?" He scowled at the obvious attempt at manipulation.

"Exactly. However, I have reason to believe that you won't say no."

"And what reasons are those."

"One." She held up a dainty finger. "General curiosity. It may have killed the cat, but it won't kill you."

He frowned.

"And two." Another finger met the air. "My knowledge of a particular event that occurred eight years ago. An event that Aizen was involved in right to end, revolving around a women named _Kurosaki Masaki." _

He lunged forward menacingly, eyes widened, fists clenched, a feral snarl twisting his lips. "What do you know about her?" He snarled.

"Not much. Expect for the fact that she is _dead,_ and certain man named Aizen was, if not the killer, the main instigator."

He deflated. _Dead._

_Dead._

He'd known. He always had. And yet, he remained grasping onto intangible hope until he'd completely forgotten. "How sure are you?"

"One hundred percent."

_Aizen._ Ichigo had never liked him, never wanted him around. But it wasn't personal, simply opinion based on man's public appearance.

Now he hated him. Loathed the sound of his name, the look of his face as is rose unbidden to his mind. His hands clenched into fists once more, trembling as rage bubbled up from the depths of core, searing his mind with white-hot detestation and abhorrence. He wanted to_ kill _him. To rip his face asunder and destroy every trace of the smug smile that eternally adorned Aizen's lips.

"Tell me where he is right now and I'll _destroy_ him" He roared.

"Sadly, its not that simple." She remained calm despite his obvious rage. "But do you agree."

Even his rage was not heavy enough to prevent his hesitance.

She saw it, the tenuous debate behind his eyes and allowed and wry smile to tilt her lips

"Come back here at this time tomorrow and give me your answer. Until then, think long and hard about your choice. Upon agreement, there will be no turning back. Unless of course, you choose to die to keep the secret. If you wish for righteous vengeance, and for peace mind for both you and your family, you'll take a step in the right direction. Keep in mind, if you make the wrong decision, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

She didn't deign to tell him what the wrong decision was.

Even as he gave his nod of understanding, she was gone.

* * *

**A lot of this has change from the original, yet at the same time it hasn't. I cut out one scene (that will be placed back in later on), but otherwise I mostly merged scenes from the chapters into one big fat chapter one! **

**I hope you all enjoyed it, I apologize profusely _again_ for my lateness, and for any possible grammar/spelling errors. I was too much of sloth to really do a good editing job so... this is what you get!**

**By the way, I keep the currently progress of a chapter at the top of profile in bold, in case you're ever wondering. It's just an approximate percentage of the chapter written based on a guesstimate on how many words there will be.**

**I cringe upon reading my original story so I hope this is better!**

**-JAM**


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